


Case No. 004: Fear as a Mortal

by miserylovedme



Series: The Apocalypse Files [2]
Category: Bandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Comic Book Violence, M/M, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4372457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miserylovedme/pseuds/miserylovedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re just superheroes trying to save the world: How Frank convinced Bob to run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Case No. 004: Fear as a Mortal

**Author's Note:**

> I once used to write in bandom on lj under the name miserylovedme. The decision to delete my livejournal was a personal one and I apologize that it had the unfortunate side effect of upsetting people.
> 
> If you see this (or any of my works) posted elsewhere, please let me know. I have never given permission for my writing to be reposted.
> 
> Nothing has been edited since this work was originally posted, so please forgive any errors or potential grammar mistakes.
> 
>  
> 
> Original post date: 6.10.08

Frank isn’t accident prone, he just has exceedingly bad luck.

No one else sees it that way, but Frank knows. He’s constantly in the wrong place at the wrong time and getting hurt as a byproduct.

Everyone says he’s clumsy. Frank considers himself lucky.

 

\--

 

The first time Frank meets Bob he’s outside a club all of five seconds away from getting his teeth knocked in by a guy a good foot and a half taller than him.

Apparently, Frank finds out between all the swearing and drunken slurring, he hit on the guy’s girlfriend. Never mind Frank has never even _seen_ the woman before, it doesn’t matter. He manages to avoid the first swing but the second takes him off guard, so fast after, that he feels a sharp pain in his jaw and then nothing.

He blinks back awake on the pavement with a massive headache and a guy with a beard and a lip ring squatted down beside him.

Frank sits up slowly, cradling his jaw and wincing at the throb of blood through the lower half of his face. He doesn’t even try to open his mouth.

“What happened?” he manages to grit out through clenched teeth.

The guy looks over the top of his head and then back at him; he shrugs nonchalantly. “His friends dragged him off.”

It’s then that Frank sees the swelling of the knuckles of one of the guy’s hands. It’s not much, but Frank’s punched his fair share of people and things before; he knows what caused the bruising.

”You hit him?”

All he says is, “Pick on someone your own size.” He shrugs again and offers Frank his hand. “Ready to stand?”

Frank considers the man before him for a second longer and then grasps the non-swollen hand and lets himself be helped to his feet. The guy catches him by the shoulders when he wavers and closes his eyes.

“Shit,” Frank breathes, trying to stop his internal world from spinning; his jaw _really_ hurts.

“You driving?” Frank shakes his head. “I’ll get you a cab.”

Frank watches him flag one down and then allows himself to climb into the back seat. He sighs heavily and grits out his address through his teeth before suddenly realizing, “Hey, I don’t know your name.” The guy stares at him and then closes the door. Frank rolls the window down; he’d grin if his face didn’t hurt so much. He sticks his hand out. “I’m Frank.”

The guy shakes his hand and says, “You should ice that, Frank.” and walks off.

 

\--

 

The second time Frank sees Bob he’s walking out of the grocery store with a bag in one hand and the receipt he’s examining—because he’s fairly sure he’s been overcharged—in the other, and not paying attention to the car that runs the stop sign at the crosswalk.

A hand snatches his upper arm and tugs him backwards so hard he almost falls over. He’s beyond ready to tell this guy to get the fuck off of him when he hears the car rush by and then looks up to see the man who saved his ass a couple weeks previous.

He smiles, the small twinge of pain in his jaw an unnecessary reminder of who this guy is.

“Hey,” he says, “thanks for the save.” The guy doesn’t have the chance to respond as Frank continues on. “I didn’t catch your name last time.”

The guy gives him a semi-scathing look that just makes Frank smile wider. The hand on his upper arm releases. “That’s because I didn’t tell you.” And just like that, the guy walks off leaving Frank behind staring at his back.

 

\--

 

It’s around three-thirty in the morning the third time Frank sees Bob. He’s at a convenience store getting a pack of cigarettes and he turns at the sound of the bell ringing over the door. He grins wildly and the guy rolls his eyes.

Frank sticks his ID back into his wallet and takes the cigarettes off the counter as the guy approaches. “Are you stalking me?” Frank grins.

But just as he opens his mouth to speak another man enters the store carrying a handgun.

Frank feels his heart freeze and then immediately shoot up into his throat. He takes a step backwards, eyes wide as the man raises the gun at the clerk and starts demanding money.

Suddenly the lights go out and the store falls into complete darkness. Someone grabs his arm and he finds himself running out the door, being pulled along behind the guy with the lip ring.

A second later he’s in the guy’s arms standing on the roof of the building, watching as the man with the gun flees, looking wildly in both directions. Then he realizes he’s on the roof.

He glances down and then at the guy holding him. Frank wouldn’t call himself a genius, but he figures out fairly fast what just happened. His heart is still racing wildly in his chest and his joints ache from the adrenaline as he steps back, shaking and rubbing at his wrist.

The guy just stares at him, seeming for the very first time, a little self-conscious, waiting for Frank to say something.

Frank briefly considers everything that just happened in the last ten seconds and then he considers freaking the fuck out. What he finally does is turn to the guy who is adjusting his lip ring and says, “What bit you?”

Which earns him a completely confused, “Huh?”

Frank nods his head down at the parking lot below. “Where’d you get your Spidey Sense?”

The guy actually laughs, a relieved, surprised sounding thing. He scratches at his jaw and shrugs at Frank. “Was born with it.” And then as an after-thought, “Spiderman doesn’t fly.”

“Technicality.”

Sirens begin to wail nearby and they both jump, looking in the direction of the echo before back at each other. “Bob,” the guys says, looking down and then at Frank.

“Bob?” Frank asks.

“Bryar. Bob Bryar.”

It takes a moment but Frank’s face splits into a grin, his jaw aching and his fingers still twitchy. “Bob Bryar,” he repeats. “Superhero extraordinaire.”

It’s dark enough that Frank doesn’t catch his blush but he does watch him lower his head and then rub at the back of his neck.

Frank continues. “I could suck your dick.” Bob’s head snaps back up and Frank definitely sees his blush.

“What?”

Frank shrugs this time, taking a couple steps in. “I owe you.”

“Three saves equals a blowjob?” Bob asks, succeeding in only taking a single step back from the small, advancing form.

“Well you could probably convince me to make you coffee in the morning. You know, if you really twist my arm.”

“I’d _break_ your arm.”

Frank smiles slowly and just says, “Hmm.”

Bob looks around a little as the lights of the cop car become visible and he and Frank both step further back so they won’t be seen. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before turning back to Frank. “You got a last name?”

Frank blinks and says, “Iero.”

Bob responds by stepping in and kissing him. When he pulls back, Frank is fucking weak at the knees, his fingers clawed into Bob’s forearms. He swallows hard and asks, “My place?”

Bob pulls him close and Frank feels his feet leave the rooftop.

 

\--

 

Bob, unsurprisingly, is a complete control freak; but he wants Frank to ride him. Never mind that Frank has already given him an astoundingly awesome blowjob, but he tells Frank not to come and then waits until he can get it up again and tells him to sit on him.

Frank’s shaking and weak-kneed, rocking more than anything. He hasn’t come and Bob has no urgency, no edge to the pleasure bordering on pain; he doesn’t _need_ to get off like Frank does. Frank’s so hard that his balls ache and he’s starting to think he’s so fucking turned on that he won’t be able to come when Bob finally touches him.

Instead of helping him, though, Bob sits with his back against Frank’s pillows and his eyes closed; big, rough hands engulfing Frank’s hips and pushing him back and forth, directing every move Frank makes. There’s an insistent pressure on his prostate with every minute arch of Bob’s hips that makes his cock leak faster and his fingers on Bob’s shoulders dig in a little harder.

Frank’s just about to say fuck it and touch himself when Bob brings his own knees up and starts actually thrusting. Frank cries out with relief, the move forcing Bob’s cock into him at a new angle that makes him feel over-stretched and fucking _used_. He leans forward and presses his sweaty cheek to Bob’s, mouthing at his earlobe and breathing hot and wet against his skin.

Bob shudders and thrusts harder, forcing a strangled, high-pitched whine from Frank. “Shit, Frank,” Bob grunts, falling into as fast a rhythm as he can in the position they’re in and Frank nearly collapses against his chest.

“Bob, please, _please_ ,” Frank finally begs. “Shit, touch me, please, I gotta come.” Bob merely shushes him. “No, seriously,” he whines, his breathing coming harder as Bob delivers several thrusts directly into his prostate. “I’m gonna come, I’m there, I’m so there.”

Bob pulls Frank’s head back sharply by his hair and the spark of pain makes Frank cry out, loud and hysterical. He’s going to fucking _explode_. Bob’s lips slide over his own at the same moment a hand curls around him and pulls. Frank nearly screams as his orgasm finally hits, harsh and raw, coming all over Bob’s chest, up to his collarbones.

Frank does collapse against Bob then, wrapping his arms around Bob’s sides and pressing his face into his neck, listening to him breathe and feeling his own come on his chest when he leans into Bob.

Frank lets Bob use him as hard as he wants until he comes a few seconds later with a harsh but quiet moan and the stuttered movements of his hips, broken up by the force of his own orgasm.

They still, Bob panting against the top of Frank’s head and Frank recovering, still stretched from Bob’s dick and his knees aching against the mattress.

“God _damn_ ,” Frank finally groans, sitting up and wincing as he pulls his sticky chest from Bob’s. “I haven’t been fucked like that in years.”

Bob can’t help the small, smug smile that flits over his features, warm and satisfied; he still holds onto Frank’s hips. “It wasn’t bad.”

Frank laughs. “I know how good I am in bed, you don’t have to be so flattering.”

Bob laughs then, quieter and Frank can see him becoming more and more reserved again, even though he’s still slightly hard inside of Frank and his chest is coated in Frank’s come. “Yeah well, I don’t want you getting a big head or anything.”

“Keeping the compliments to a minimum. I like your style, Bryar.”

Bob rolls his eyes but the smile remains. He strokes his fingers over Frank’s hip bones and then asks, “Shower?”

Frank nods and they work together to carefully pull Frank free.

They makeout under the hot water until it runs lukewarm and then climb back into Frank’s bed naked and Bob falls asleep almost immediately. Frank doesn’t feel disappointed like he would if it was anyone else though. Instead he curls around Bob’s side, happy that Bob even stayed after he came instead of grabbing his pants and bolting for the door.

When Frank does sleep, it’s more soundly than he has in months.

 

\--

 

Bob wakes up alone in someone else’s bed.

It takes him a moment, looking around at the concert ticket stubs on the nightstand and the Autobot action figures facing off against a few toppled over Decepticons on the dresser to the pile of dirty clothes by the door for him to even remember what happened last night. He sits up on the edge of the bed and rubs hard at his eyes.

Bob never stays the night.

He takes a minute to pep-talk himself up and into his jeans, grabbing his hoodie with one hand and tugging his shirt down over his head with the other. Stepping out of the bedroom, he hears sounds from—what he assumes is—the kitchen and heads that way. He may not usually stay and cuddle after a hookup but he also tries to not be a total pussy about it either.

Frank is leaning against the counter over the sink in a low-slung pair of track pants with his back to Bob, oblivious to his approach. Bob allows himself a moment to really take in the view of the clingy material against Frank’s ass before clearing his throat and startling Frank into almost dropping whatever’s in his hand when he spins around.

Frank stares at him for a moment as Bob shifts his weight awkwardly onto the other foot and holds up his hoodie. “Hey,” Frank says, sounding out of breath and then laughing lightly. “You scared the shit outta me.” Bob doesn’t say anything, he just really wants to leave. “Pound cake?” Frank asks, holding out the slice he has in his hand.

Bob can’t control the small laugh that escapes him; he pulls his hoodie on and zips it up, slipping his hands into the front pockets. “No thanks.” Frank just eyes him slowly before shoving what’s left of the cake into his mouth and brushing his hands off on his thighs.

“You want coffee?” Frank asks, still chewing, muffled behind the food. Bob shakes his head and gestures over his shoulder towards the door. But before he can even say anything Frank continues. “You sure? That was part of the deal wasn’t it?”

Bob knows Frank can’t possibly mean he was actually serious about paying Bob back for saving his life with sex and the promise of coffee this morning, but just the implication in the joke makes his face flush and his stomach begin to knot up. It must show on his face because Frank’s expression tightens up a little and he says, “Hey, no, I—that wasn’t—I wasn’t being serious or anything.”

“Yeah,” Bob says, clearing his throat and then patting down his pockets. His keys are still hooked to his back belt loop and his phone is in his pocket. “No, I uh… I gotta,” he gestures again, not really looking at Frank. “Stuff, you know?”

Frank is quiet before he rubs his hand over his hair, wild from sleeping on it wet, and then his mood lightens. If Bob didn’t have his heightened sense of awareness he thinks Frank could probably have fooled him, but Bob catches it; it’s false. And Bob, on top of not spending the night and not being a pussy, also tries to not be a complete dick.

“I could stay,” he starts. “I mean, for a minute.”

Frank blinks back at him and then shakes his head; Bob pretends the ache in his chest is something other than disappointment. “No, it’s cool. I gotta clean up and shit.”

Bob grabs his keys. “Yeah, sure.” He’s not sure if things have ever been this awkward the morning after.

He’s half-way out the front door when he stops and looks back at Frank, ready to shut the door on, quite possibly, a multitude of things. He turns and places a hand on the door frame. “You busy later?”

Bob definitely doesn’t miss the way Frank’s face lights up. And then darkens again immediately. “I work later.”

Bob looks down, shifting his foot around and considering before taking his cell from his pocket and entering a new contact. He hands it to Frank to type in his number. Frank pauses though with it in his hands, biting briefly at his lower lip before holding it back out to Bob. “I’m not a whore, you know,” it’s not really a question. Bob blinks in surprise.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“I get out of work at eight. I like pizza and I have two 360 controllers, one of which has a sticky toggle and a broken Y button. Bring your own or you get the shitty one.” Frank doesn’t wait for Bob to respond before shutting the door. Bob hears the click of the lock but he doesn’t move. He isn’t sure Frank isn’t watching him through the peep hole right now, but he remains until a small smile slides over his face and he pats the doorframe before heading towards the stairs.

 

\--

 

Bob shows up around ten with a wireless controller and the kind of pizza you have to put in the oven to cook. Frank arches an eyebrow but doesn’t bother trying to hide his smile.

Bob just shrugs, sliding it in before the oven beeps ready. “It’s too late to get a real pizza.”

“I told you I got out at eight,” Frank says, opening the refrigerator and pulling out two beers, offering one to Bob, who takes it. “You could have come over sooner and brought real pizza with you.”

Bob cracks off the lid from his bottle and tosses it in the trash as Frank fishes around the drawers for the bottle opener. Bob takes his beer from him and twists the top off. Frank stares a little and Bob looks down awkwardly.

“They aren’t twist-tops,” Frank remarks, looking down at the cold bottle in his hand. Bob shrugs; he probably shouldn’t have done that. “Is it part of the superpower thing?”

That’s exactly what it is, but Bob doesn’t want to say that. He doesn’t want to tell frank that he could burst every light in his apartment or make his subwoofer explode with just the force of his mind. He doesn’t want to say _any_ of that because for some reason, he likes Frank and he doesn’t want his issues to become the focus of anything.

Bob takes a drink of his beer and meets Frank’s curious eyes. At least he doesn’t seem freaked out, Bob reasons. Reluctantly he says, “Kinda. Strength isn’t my thing really. I mean, it is a little, but I’m not like the Hulk or anything.”

Frank grins. “I like the Hulk.” Bob blushes. “What do you do then?”

Before Bob can answer the oven beeps and makes them both jump. “I can school your ass in _Call of Duty_ ,” he says, heading for the living room and letting Frank follow.

 

\--

 

Bob is stuffed and Frank is currently ruining his shit in the war zone, but Bob finds it a little hard to care. When Frank kills him with another headshot, Bob tosses his controller to the ground and Frank save and exits to the menu before throwing up his arms in victory.

“You suck, dude.”

Bob just flips him off and leans back into the armrest, closing his eyes for a moment. He’s a little tired and maybe a little buzzed. He isn’t sure if it’s safe to drive yet or not, but he knows he can’t stay the night again.

The whole ‘just friends’ thing will probably work out fine with Frank, but Bob still doesn’t think it’s a good idea to sleep over. Having Frank ride him again probably won’t help them stay in that neutral friends area.

Suddenly Bob has a lapful of Frank and his hands shoot out to steady his hips on instinct. He doesn’t let go even when he looks up at Frank’s slightly-seductive smile and clearly steady form atop him.

But when Frank rocks his hips a little, Bob cuts off a groan and stills him. “Frank, this isn’t a good idea.”

“When is sex ever a good idea?” Frank asks, dropping down and pressing wet, slow kisses along his jaw, up to his mouth and then sliding their lips together. Bob kisses back, letting Frank’s tongue pull his own into movement. He doesn’t notice that Frank has started moving against him again until he’s pushing back with quite some force and his dick is pressing up hard and urgent against Frank’s through their jeans.

“Wait, wait, seriously,” Bob says when he pulls away with a gasp.

Frank whimpers a little but stops moving. “I want you.”

“You don’t know me.”

Frank sits up enough to meet Bob’s eyes. “I know that you’re a _Justice League_ reject and I still want you.”

Bob doesn’t roll his eyes like he wants to. “You want my dick.”

“And you want it in my ass, what’s the problem here?” Frank leans back down, trying to recapture Bob’s mouth with his own but only succeeds for a moment because Bob twists under him, their crotches scraping together, pulling another, louder whimper from Frank and a groan from Bob.

At the risk of sounding like a lovesick teenager, Bob stops himself from asking if that’s all Frank sees when he looks at him. Instead he clears his throat and says, “I’m not a relationship kinda guy.”

Frank seems to still even further although he wasn’t moving in the first place and then hastily crawls off and sits at the other end of the couch. Bob feels like an epic dick; but he doesn’t know what to do or say to make it sound like he didn’t just use Frank for sex the night before even though Frank was the one who offered to suck him off.

“I should go,” Bob says, standing, reaching down to adjust himself and wincing at the touch of his own hand to his cock.

Frank doesn’t move, but he looks when Bob looks back at him. “So is this like a ‘forever’ goodbye, or a ‘we can hang out again later’ goodbye?” Bob doesn’t say anything, he just stares down at his controller on the floor beside the console. “Because—okay, I mean, if you don’t want to, that’s—that’s cool I guess, but like we don’t have to—you don’t have to date me or whatever.”

Bob feels a little disappointed at hearing that. “I don’t have to date you to fuck you. Is that what you’re saying?”

Frank stands and Bob looks; his face is flushed with anger and he looks a little shocked. “I told you I’m not a whore.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You just did!” Frank nearly stomps his foot.

“ _You_ just did!” Bob says, feeling more than a little immature.

Frank lets out an exasperated breath. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What’d you mean then?” Bob growls right back.

Frank does stomp his foot. “I don’t want you to leave, okay?”

“And I don’t want you throwing yourself at me.”

Frank collides with Bob so hard that he almost falls over and Bob throws both of them to the floor before rolling Frank under him and kissing him hard.

It’s almost more than Bob can take when Frank arches under him and shoves his shirt up at the same time, hisses out, “Off, take it off.”

Bob tears the offending article of clothing up over his head and then descends back on Frank, smashing their mouths together hard enough to make Frank whine and lean away before tilting back up into it.

Frank’s fingers tighten in his hair when he pulls both their jeans open. Frank lifts his hips and squirms helpfully while Bob tugs his pants down and shoves his own to his knees. 

Frank is hastily prepared with two spit-slick fingers and then Bob is holding Frank’s knees up and pushing in and down. Frank cries out, high pitched and weak sounding, wavering as he digs his fingernails into Bob’s shoulders and tries to relax.

Bob stills inside, keeping his hips from grinding in further against Frank’s ass. He waits until Frank nods and says, “Go, go, come on,” slightly frantic against his mouth and lifts up, bracing his feet against Bob’s calves.

Bob doesn’t hold back, he sets in hard and fast, holding Frank in place with both hands firmly planted on the floor on either side of his head. Frank cries out louder and louder each time Bob bottoms out against his prostate. It’s fucking amazing, Frank under him, on him, wanting it, wanting everything. He arches again and bites Bob’s jaw _hard_ and Bob groans, panting into the kiss he presses to Frank’s bottom lip.

It’s too perfect; this, _Frank_ is too perfect.

It’s not right, this shouldn’t be happening. But Frank cries out when Bob touches him and when he comes, Bob comes, dropping down on top of him and riding out the aftershocks of his orgasm. He doesn’t pull out until he has to, until Frank shifts under him and pushes a little at his chest.

Bob rolls onto the carpet beside Frank and stares up at the ceiling as he regains his breath. And when Frank folds two of his fingers around one of Bob’s, he doesn’t pull away.

 

\--

 

“I think I fucked up,” Bob tells him quietly later, when they’re laying under the covers of Frank’s bed and Frank has his head on Bob’s chest.

“You think too much.”

Bob doesn’t say anything for a while, he just continues carding his fingers through Frank’s sweat-sticky hair. “We can’t do this again.”

Frank sighs and Bob stops a shudder from working its way through him with a moderate amount of effort. Frank isn’t a genius of any sort but it isn’t hard to see that Bob doesn’t like talking about it, but, “Is it the superpower thing?”

Bob takes his time in responding hoarsely, “Yeah.”

Frank lets out another shaky sigh, rubbing his face against Bob’s chest for a moment before sitting up and kissing him slowly. When he pulls back he just says, “Okay.”

 

\--

 

They don’t touch each other again for a while. Bob continues to come over nearly every night when Frank gets out of work and they hang out until the early morning hours, gorging themselves on pizza and playing Xbox. Sometimes Bob gets too drunk to drive home and he crashes out on the couch, unless Frank can actually convince him to sleep in bed with him.

Frank wakes up more than once with Bob’s early-morning erection pressed against his back, and he’s sure Bob has felt his own against his thigh at least every other time Bob climbs into his bed, but it never goes beyond careful shifting to move away from one another.

It’s clearly not a lack of want on either of their sides, although they play friends fairly well.

Frank is a touchy guy and once or twice he’s been pinned under Bob after a wrestling match on the living room floor and found himself grinding his hips up against Bob’s. Bob just pulls away and goes back to the couch without a word. Frank stalks off to his bedroom and sticks his hand down his pants, never quite managing to be any kind of quiet.

They don’t talk about it either. Mostly because Bob wants him right back.

The more time they spend together, getting to know each other, just being friends, makes Bob realize that he needs to pull away further. Hanging out with Frank is a bad idea. Any time Frank touches him it sends sparks of indescribable want shuddering through him. Every single laugh Frank lets escape him makes Bob’s heart beat faster, knowing he’s the cause of the smile on his face and the high-pitched giggles coming from his mouth. Whenever he wakes up pressed to Frank’s back or with Frank against his side he just closes his eyes for a while and lets himself indulge in the fact that this man, the most attractive guy Bob has ever seen, fits warm and perfect in his arms.

Above all else, he’s the first person Bob has told about his abilities since it got his mom killed. Frank knows the danger and _still_ wants to be with him.

It’s already gone way too far. He’s been alone for so long and Bob knows he’s too late to stop what he should never have begun. He’s beyond fucked because he thinks he’s falling in love with this normal, every day human.

 

\--

 

It isn’t until three months later that Bob is starting to get that prickly feeling in the base of his spine, the one that creeps progressively upwards into the back of his neck, setting his hair on end, that he realizes he’s being watched.

It’s happened before, they always seem to find him. He’s not exactly sure who _they_ are, but he knows it’s bad because his mom’s tombstone is a pretty good judge of just what they have in mind. He’s always managed to escape, but a lot of people seem to die in the process. More and more each time.

He stops going to Frank’s.

Five days of voicemail and no visits later, Frank shows up at the bar Bob works at. It doubles as a concert venue, Bob does the house sound and lights. Frank had laughed when Bob first told him what he does for a living, pointing out that it matches his abilities perfectly. Bob had just given him the look that says he sometimes thinks Frank is _special_ and said he knew that.

It takes him an entire sixty seconds to fish his wallet out of his jeans and then find his ID in it. The bouncer gives him a skeptical look, but Frank’s pushing twenty-three and he’s pretty sick of people thinking his hard-earned drivers license is a fake. He slides in, weaving through the crowds of people and begins searching for the soundboards. It isn’t hard to find, the place only holds a good six hundred people and it’s hardly packed tonight.

Frank stops when he sees Bob facing the stage, his fingers making slight, easy adjustments as he watches, headphones over his ears, listening to the singer asking for more guitar. Frank feels the tightening in the front of his jeans and looks away uncomfortably for a moment. He’s never gotten over the whole wanting Bob’s hand down his pants and Bob’s dick in his ass thing, doubts he ever will.

When he looks back, Bob is taking a drink from a beer bottle; Frank misses that mouth.

Frank turns and heads for the bar. He orders himself a Johnny Vegas and lets the overwhelming smell of it nearly gag him on the first drink. He shifts on the stool, turning and looking at the stage, the mass of fans gathered around it screaming out lyrics; Frank has never heard of this band before and he’s not surprised when he finds himself scanning through the darkness to Bob again.

He looks good. He’s wearing jeans, tight jeans, that Frank has never seen before, that Frank can only see now because he’s leaning up the board to grab something from the top. He’s got a white button-down on and over top of it a form-fitting black sweater-vest. And really, no one should be wearing a sweater-vest and still look that good.

Frank takes another drink and scrunches up his face at the taste before looking back at the stage. The band isn’t that bad, he finds himself watching for a while and when he finishes the drink in his hand he gets a beer.

He’s working on his second when the band finishes and Frank turns back around to close out his tab. He already feels drunk; he really doesn’t need to have someone take his keys away from him. But before he can call out to one of the bartenders, he feels someone grab his elbow and pull him right off the stool.

All Frank can see is black for a few moments, feels his feet stumbling over each other, trying to stay upright, until he’s pressed back into the wall just inside the backstage door and looking up at Bob. He kind of wants to throw up.

“I’m sorry,” he sort-of slurs before Bob can even say anything. Okay, maybe he’s more drunk than he thought. Bob re-grips his upper arms, holding him in place. “Don’t be mad at me. I’m sorry,” he says again.

“Frank—”

“I don’t know wha—what I did, but,” Frank actually hiccups like a drunk from a movie and he feels his face flush, smacking both hands on Bob’s chest, trying to get him to understand what he’s saying, “I’m sorry.” What the hell was in that Johnny Vegas? Bob stops him with a slight shake of his form, making Frank’s head roll a little too much. “I think I’m drunk.”

Bob laughs a little, looking down at him. “Frank,” he says a moment later, “you need to leave.”

Frank shakes his head. “I drove.”

“Shit,” Bob says, looking around. The crew is still breaking down the last band’s equipment so he has maybe twenty minutes before he has to get back out there. “You gotta get someone to come pick you up.”

Frank shakes his head again and then covers his mouth like maybe that wasn’t a really great idea. Bob doesn’t even flinch away at all, he just continues to hold Frank in place. “Where’d you go?” Frank finally asks between his fingers.

“Nowhere, Frankie,” Bob says, his voice calm and surprisingly gentle. “I need you to leave, Frank. Where’s your phone?”

“No one’s gonna come get me,” Frank says, hiccupping again.

Bob shifts Frank’s weight so that he’s supporting most of it. “Then we’ll get you a cab.”

“I’m not leaving my car here,” Frank tells him, but Bob’s already leading him out the crew door into the parking lot where Frank promptly leans away from him and pukes. Bob doesn’t let him go, he turns Frank even further so he misses his own shoes and holds him up while he heaves again.

“How much did you drink?” Bob asks, when Frank is standing on shaky legs, Bob holding him up almost entirely now.

Frank spits again and wipes his mouth. “Not that much.” Frank’s got a fairly high alcohol tolerance level and they both know this. “That bartender didn’t know how to mix a Vegas.”

Bob makes a non-comitial sound and leads Frank down towards the road. “Give me your keys,” he says, holding out his hand while Frank searches his pockets for them. “I’ll drive your car back to your apartment and you take a cab home.”

“I have to close my bar tab.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Frank blinks up at him as though it’s too bright in the darkness around them. “Will you come up?”

Bob hails him a cab and sticks him in the backseat, telling the driver Frank’s address through the open front window and then leaning back in through Frank’s. “Just go to sleep when you get there, okay?”

Frank shakes his head and reaches out to grasp Bob’s fingers. “Please come up. I miss you.”

Bob freezes for a moment before lifting his hand to smooth Frank’s hair down and then pulling back. “I will if you promise to go to sleep.”

Frank hesitates but finally nods. Bob steps back from the street and watches as the cab drives off.

 

\--

 

Bob brings Frank coffee and a bagel from an all night coffee shop when he gets out. Frank doesn’t answer the door, so Bob heads back out to the car and gets the spare key from the glove compartment, having given Frank his key off the car keychain.

When he lets himself in he half expects to find Frank passed out on the floor, naked or something, but no, Frank has actually managed to find the bed. He’s sprawled across it the wrong way and he’s still fully dressed, but hey, he made it to the bed, Bob tells himself.

He sets the coffee and bag containing the bagel down beside Prowl and Bumblebee before removing Frank’s shoes and tossing the blanket at the foot of the bed over him. He stares for a moment, hesitates, and then finally crawls up beside him. Bob’s taller and it isn’t as comfortable for him to fit his frame onto the bed the way Frank has, but he just curls his legs up, pillows his head on his arms and closes his eyes.

 

\--

 

Frank wakes up a few hours later and manages to not let his _massive_ hangover headache stop him from brushing his teeth. The sound of the running water is almost enough for him to throw up again, but he makes it and then returns to the bed where Bob is blinking awake.

Frank collapses beside him and clumsily pulls the blanket back up over his body. He doesn’t say anything, he just closes his eyes again. Bob gets up and disappears into the bathroom with minimal noise, which Frank appreciates beyond anything else Bob has ever done for him at the current moment in time.

Bob returns, however, his breath smelling like Frank’s toothpaste and pulls him into a sitting position. Frank groans lightly in protest, saying, “Bob,” warningly. But he takes the offered warmed-up coffee and the Motrin in Bob’s hand. “Thanks,” he says through a grumble before handing the cup back and curling up on the bed again. Bob doesn’t lay back down though. Frank peeks out from under the blanket and sees him sitting on the edge of the bed tying his shoes. “Where’re you going?”

“Home,” Bob says, dropping his foot from his knee and turning enough to meet Frank’s eyes.

“Don’t,” Frank whines. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Bob leans over and ruffles Frank’s hair under the blanket. “It hasn’t even been a week.”

“But you’ve been ignoring me.”

Bob’s soft look tightens up and he gets back to his feet. “I promise there’s a good reason, Frank.”

“Bob—”

“Frank, I promise.” Bob sounds slightly angry but not particularly at Frank. So Frank lets his head drop back to the sheets and closes his eyes again.

“Will you come back?”

Bob is quiet a moment before he says, “Later.”

“Today,” Frank clarifies.

“Tomorrow.”

Frank groans far too loudly for his head to appreciate. “Today or I’ll come looking for you again and you can take care of my sick ass all day.”

“Fine,” Bob snaps. “Tonight. Now go back to bed.”

Bob absolutely does not hear Frank mumble, “Love you,” as he closes the bedroom door.

 

\--

 

Bob is truly a man of his word, because he returns to Frank’s apartment that night, taking an alternate route. He knows he’s already risked too much, exposing Frank, when he dropped Frank’s car off early that morning, but he doesn’t know what else to do.

Well, he knows what he _should_ do, and that’s leave Frank alone, keep him safe by vanishing from his life. But Bob just isn’t that fucking selfless.

Gifted human or not, he’s still human and he can’t deny that he’s missed Frank the past few days and his heart beats excitedly in his chest when he knocks on the door that evening.

Frank answers, looking better, but still worn down. He’s pale and hiding himself in too-big sweats and a hoodie but he smiles and lets Bob step inside before hugging him. They don’t usually touch each other a lot, but Frank just seems to need it. Bob folds his arms around him and rubs the back of his neck, burying his nose in Frank’s hair.

“Where’d you go?” Frank asks when he steps back, scratching his stubble-covered jaw and leading the way to the couch.

Bob toes off his shoes at the door and follows, sitting down at the other end of the couch and watching Frank curl up before responding. He really doesn’t want to have this conversation, but he can’t do this to Frank, put him in danger because of Bob; that’s just not fair. Bob sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose for a moment.

“You know—” he stops himself because Frank _doesn’t_ know; Bob doesn’t volunteer information about his family or himself, his powers, any of it. But if Frank were to ask, he’s fairly sure his resolve to remain silent on the issues would crack and fade fairly fast. Frank just sits there patiently, eyes tired but entirely focused on what Bob’s saying. “People want me dead, Frank,” he finally says, feeling exhausted and a little like crying for no real reason.

When Bob looks at Frank, his complexion has paled even further and he sits up, tightened in on himself. “Who wants you dead?”

Bob swallows around the lump forming in his throat. “I don’t know—”

“Then how do you know they want you dead?”

“Frank—”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Frank, listen—”

“Has someone—what is it, like the real world version of a villain or something?”

Bob reaches out and takes one of Frank’s hands. “Frank, _listen_ to me.”

“You should tell someone.”

Bob doesn’t sigh out loud, but he certainly does inside. “Who, Frank?”

“The cops!” Frank practically shouts, grabbing Bob’s hand back and shaking him slightly with the force of his grip.

“And what?” Bob shouts right back. “Turn myself over as a voluntary government experiment?” Frank just stares at him, argument dying on his lips. “You know what would happen if I did anything but what I’m doing right now.”

Frank is silent, heart racing and his mouth beyond dry. He licks his lips but it does nothing and his voice cracks a little when he asks, “And what are you doing right now?” Bob just uses both hands to rub the one of Frank’s that he’s holding and tilts his head, looking down. Frank snatches his hand back. “No.”

Bob looks up at him. “No?”

“No, I said no.”

“Frank—”

“If you try to leave me I’ll find you.”

Bob stills. “We aren’t together.”

Frank’s cheeks flush a little. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know what you meant.” Bob’s voice softens a little and Frank lets him take his hand for a moment before he pulls it back again. 

“So what? You’re gonna leave?” Frank asks. “And I’m gonna see you when, exactly?”

Bob sighs in frustration, rubbing at his eyes with his thumbs. “What do you want me to say, Frank?”

“I want you to say that you’re not seriously thinking about packing up and leaving.”

It’s quiet for a long time before Bob says, “I can’t say that, Frank.”

“Fuck you!” Frank yells, stumbling up from the couch. He heads for the hallway, but that puts him walking right past Bob and Bob immediately grabs his arm. “Get off of me!” Frank hisses, knocking Bob’s hands away, but Bob doesn’t let go. He grabs Frank around the waist and Frank turns, shoving at him hard enough to throw off his balance. They land on the floor with Frank suddenly hitting Bob, kicking his legs away from Bob’s, but his hands won’t stop landing blows.

Bob grabs one and then the other right after he takes a punch to the jaw, and manages to get Frank pinned under him. “Stop it,” Bob growls. “Frank, for fuck’s sake!”

But Frank doesn’t stop, he twists his arms free and slaps Bob across the face and kicks at his thigh, dangerously close to between the legs. Bob flattens himself against Frank. “I said _stop it_ ,” he hisses.

Frank stills for a moment, panting beneath him before yanking his arms back and pulling Bob down into a kiss.

Bob doesn’t fight it for even a moment. He hasn’t touched Frank at all like this in over three months. He wants it, he _wants_ it. Bob grinds down and Frank whines high in the back of his throat.

They kiss, biting at each others lips and their tongues sliding together for a few more moments until Frank suddenly shoves at Bob. “Off me, come on.” They’re almost to the bedroom, but Bob isn’t sure he can make it. “Come on!” Frank growls, louder, squirming under him.

Bob stands shakily and yanks Frank to his feet. Frank stumbles into him and Bob shoves him back into the wall. Fuck the bedroom. Fuck everything, he needs this now. A quick push of his hands has Frank’s sweats at his ankles and he kicks them off while Bob yanks his jeans open and frees his dick.

Frank looks down and moans weakly, wrapping both arms around Bob’s neck and fucking arching up like he’s trying to climb him. Bob grabs the crooks of both of his knees and lifts him up, forcing him back into the wall. Frank keeps himself steady as Bob lets go with one hand to spit into it. He fingers Frank open roughly and Frank cries out repeatedly that’s he’s ready.

“Bob, _please_ , please, come on,” he pants, arching his back from the wall and testing Bob’s hold on him.

Bob tugs his fingers free and lines himself up. He pushes inside and Frank sinks down, gravity helping more than Bob’s initial thrust. Frank cries out again, pulling Bob in by the shoulders. “Frank,” Bob whispers, eyes clenched as Frank contracts around him. He isn’t going to last for shit.

“Fuck me, come on,” Frank urges, nails clawing into Bob’s shoulders through his shirt. “Bob, shit, seriously.”

Bob knows all about the urgency with which Frank is trying to convince him to move. He grabs Frank’s hips in both hands and lifts him up. Frank moans wildly as Bob fucks up into him. He doesn’t waste time, he pulls back and thrusts in again, letting Frank’s legs around his waist and the wall at his back do all the supporting. Bob’s knees feel weak, but the pain in his dick isn’t fading with every move inside of Frank; it increases rapidly, sweat breaking out on his forehead and his balls beginning to ache.

Frank is panting in his ear, folded around him entirely, whispering, “Harder, Bob,” every time he catches his breath enough to speak. It’s all Bob can do not to come with each thrust. He grits his teeth and when that doesn’t work he sinks them into Frank’s shoulder.

It’s desperate and rough and Frank gasps, his entire body tensing and contracting before wrapping around Bob in every possible way before he’s suddenly spurting against Bob’s stomach, crying out like it’s painful.

Bob doesn’t make it any longer than Frank. He wants to let Frank ride it out while his cock is still inside of him but he can’t. He imagines he presses Frank’s head back into the wall the moment before he comes and whispers that he loves him, but the image is distorted in his head because a hard contraction of Frank’s muscles makes him groan somewhat hysterically and bury himself inside of Frank, coming hard enough to make his vision darken.

It isn’t until they’ve both caught their breath a little and Frank is still held up between Bob and the wall that Frank tilts Bob’s head up from his shoulder and presses a soft, easy kiss to his lips and says, “I love you too,” that Bob realizes he’s spoken out loud.

 

\--

 

Bob is warm and still a little damp through his t-shirt after they shower and Frank is laying with his head on his chest, listening to his heart beat. Fingers card repeatedly through Frank’s hair and he finds himself wanting to just close his eyes and pretend that none of this is happening. Well, not all of it, just the part where Bob is explaining that he has to leave despite Frank’s protests.

“Okay, just one more time,” Frank mumbles into his shirt, tightening his hand on Bob’s side.

“Frankie—”

“Bob just—okay, someone’s been after you.”

“For years,” Bob adds.

Frank nods a little and continues, his voice tense. “And you’ve been moving around.” Bob nods. “You don’t know who it is and you’re afraid that they’re going to come after me if they see us together.”

“It’s happened before, Frank. It’ll happen again, I know it will.” He sighs. “I think they’ve already found me, which is why I have to stop seeing you for a while.” Frank curls in further against his side and Bob soothes a hand down to his shoulder blade and squeezes. “Not forever.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Bob sighs and shifts so they’re on their sides facing one another. He leans in and kisses Frank carefully, as though Frank might have some reaction other than pulling him in further. Bob goes when Frank rolls onto his back and tugs Bob on top of him.

“I promise, Frank,” Bob says, placing small kisses along his jaw, back to his lips and then down the other side. “We can still talk, I just have to lay low for a while. And so do you.”

Frank looks up at him and Bob tucks a strand of his hair behind his ear. “How long?”

Bob kisses him again, pushing his tongue into Frank’s mouth and sucking Frank’s own between his lips. “You’re just gonna have to trust me.”

Frank does. “I do.”

“I know.”

 

\--

 

They manage to avoid seeing one another for the next two weeks. Frank is anxious and twitchy enough that his coworkers end up banning him from drinking any of the coffee in the break room. Frank doesn’t really feel like he needs it anyway. He’s wired constantly, wondering about Bob, if Bob’s okay, if anyone has found him. The only time he calms is when Bob responds to his texts and calls him twice a day.

“You need to go out and do something,” Bob tells him over the phone one night. Frank hasn’t been out of his apartment, except to go to work, in days.

“I’m doing something right now,” he says, looking up at the ceiling of the bathroom. He’s laying on the tile floor with his shirt balled up under his head. It’s way too fucking hot in his apartment.

Bob laughs a little in his ear and it sends a shudder through Frank. He wants to stick his hand down his pants, but that seems a little desperate. It’s only been fourteen days; it’s been longer before.

Frank closes his eyes tightly. “Soon, right?”

“Soon,” Bob agrees, his voice low and gravelly, like he had to yell a lot at work the night before.

Frank can imagine better reasons for Bob to be yelling. He shifts when his cock twitches and reaches down to adjust himself. He’s been hard since Bob called. His hand doesn’t stray once it touches his erection though. He trails his fingers along the hard line in his jeans and rocks his hips a little.

“…your ass again.”

“What?” Frank chokes out, tightening his hand and squeezing enough to gasp.

“I said that we should play Xbox live tonight so I can kick your ass again. You all right?” Bob sounds a little worried.

Frank shakes his head before he remembers Bob can’t see him. “No, yeah, I’m good. I’m good.”

Bob is silent for a moment longer before he says, “You’re touching yourself.”

Frank gasps again. “Maybe.”

“Frankie—”

But Frank palms himself harder, rubbing the heel of his hand against his dick and oh _fuck_ not being desperate. He turns his phone on speaker and sets it beside his head; he’s going to need both hands for his. He moans when he shoves his jeans down and squeezes the base of his cock; it’s way too much too soon.

“Frankie,” Bob’s voice comes again, lower and rougher than before.

Frank gives himself another squeeze before panting out, “Yeah?”

“You have your hands on it?”

“One,” Frank says, eyes clenched against the light. “Holding it.”

Bob’s inhale is sharp and Frank can hear him unzipping his own pants. “I want you to stroke it for me.”

Frank’s toes fucking curl at the order and he does, once, slow and hard. “Again?” he asks weakly.

“I’m on speaker?”

“Yeah.”

“Lick your fingers; other hand. Rub the head.”

Frank shifts and squeezes himself again, trying to keep his reactions under control. He does as Bob says, rolling his first and middle finger over the head and collecting the pre-come as it beads at the slit. “Shit,” he breathes. “Bob—”

“Stroke it, slowly. Pretend it’s me, Frankie.”

And Frank can hear Bob’s hand on himself. It’s slick and, shit, Bob must have lube. Frank whines at the contact of his dry fist and says, “Wet, I need it wet.”

“Lick your palm,” Bob practically whispers, moaning once. “Don’t stop though.”

“Won’t,” Frank groans back.

They’re silent then, both of them bringing themselves closer and closer to coming from just listening to the other. They’re breathing harshly and small groans are leaving Bob as louder panting and exclamations keep escaping Frank.

Bob loves that Frank’s so vocal; he’s always loved the screamers. “Frankie,” he says. “Close?”

“Yeah, yeah, shit,” Frank moans, sounding pained.

“Go faster.”

Frank nearly sobs with relief as he lets go and starts fucking his own fist. Bob groans his name at the sound and Frank arches and comes against his hand, his stomach, everything, and then collapses back down to the tile; slippery under the sweaty skin of his back

Frank strokes himself through the aftershocks, listening as Bob comes on the other end of the line.

It takes them a while before they’re able to laugh a little, declare themselves gross and in need of showers, but they finally do. Bob tells him he loves him before he hangs up. And when Frank slides his phone shut, he remains on the floor for a while after, just staring up at the crack in the corner where the wall and ceiling come together.

 

\--

 

The last thing Frank wants to do when he gets home the next night is call Bob. He knows Bob is going to probably yell at him and tell him he should have called him the moment it happened, but Frank doesn’t want Bob in any more danger than he already is. But he knows he has to.

Frank takes the stairs two at a time and locks himself in his apartment, dropping the bags in his hands on the floor, drawing all the shades closed before he gets his cell and sits on the couch and speed dials Bob.

“Hey,” Bob says, sounding a lot more relaxed than he has been in a while and Frank feels like shit instantly. When he doesn’t respond Bob asks, “Frank?” a lot more worriedly than before.

“Hey,” Frank finally says, banging his forehead against his drawn-up knees and closing his eyes. “Hey, I just—” he trails off, waving a hand Bob can’t see. He kind of wants to cry a little bit, but he just clears his throat and says, “Bob, something happened.”

Bob is silent but for his breathing which sounds more and more labored as the seconds tick past. “What happened?”

“Don’t freak out,” Frank prefaces.

“What happened, Frank?” Bob’s voice is hard and steady, too careful.

Frank sighs. “I saw someone.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where?”

Frank pulls the phone from his ear and looks down at it. “What is this, the Inquisition?”

“What’d you see, Frank?” Bob snaps. “This isn’t time to fuck around.”

“Okay, okay, shit,” Frank says, leaning back into the armrest. “I went to the store. I felt weird, like someone was watching me, but security cameras make me feel like that, so whatever. And then I kept—someone was just there.”

“What do you mean?” Bob asks, sounding quieter, less angry.

Frank sighs and rubs at his eyes. “I don’t know how to explain it. It was like there was someone right behind me the whole time. I could feel them breathing and shit.” Frank shudders at the memory, the hairs on his arms standing up. “Like a ghost or something, I don’t know. It sounds retarded when I say it out loud. But… I could feel it. And then when I was leaving some dude was standing in the parking lot.”

“Just standing?” Bob asks.

“Yeah, he was like,” Frank waves his hand before raking it through his hair. “He was down too far for me to see, but he was just standing there, looking at me.”

Bob is quiet for a minute before he says, “No one followed you home, right.” It’s not a question.

“I don’t think so,” Frank says. “I drove around a little. I didn’t want to come right back here.”

Frank doesn’t imagine Bob’s whispered, “Good boy.”

“It freaked me out. I’m _still_ freaked out,” he corrects.

“You should have called me while you were at the store,” Bob tells him.

Frank rolls his eyes; he totally called it. “I’m a big boy, Bob.”

“With no way to defend yourself.”

Frank stills and blinks in the silence for a while before he asks, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re fairly powerless here, Frank.” And Bob sounds a little angry again. “You know that they have abilities you don’t.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m totally helpless,” Frank snaps.

“I didn’t say that,” Bob says quickly.

Frank scowls at the knees of his jeans and swings his feet down to the floor. “I’m going to bed.”

“Frankie, wait.”

“Goodnight, Bob.” Frank hangs up.

 

\--

 

Frank hardly sleeps at all that night. He keeps the light on his nightstand on and locks his bedroom door. He’s completely paranoid that someone is going to break into his apartment, but when he wakes up the next morning to his alarm clock he grumbles and gets out of bed the same as always.

He doesn’t feel watched as he leaves his apartment building and he doesn’t feel followed as he makes his way to work. He just feels achy and in need of a seriously large coffee.

Frank works for a small real estate company behind a desk in a small office in which the door must always remain open. And the knock at the doorframe somehow manages to startle him anyway.

His boss’ secretary is standing there. “Mr. Iero? There’s a man in the lobby asking for you.”

Frank’s heart leaps immediately to his throat and he’s glad he’s sitting because he might have fallen over otherwise. “Who is it?”

“He said his name is Robert Bryar.”

Frank relaxes instantly before tensing right back up. “Can you please tell him I’m busy and give him this?” He pulls a sticky-note pad over to him and scribbles down his office’s extension number before folding it up and handing it to her. She takes it and he thanks her, slouching down in his chair and taking a drink of his coffee.

It’s hardly a minute later that the phone on his desk rings and Frank picks it up, cradling it against his shoulder. “Frank Iero speaking.”

“Professional, you asshole.”

Frank can’t help but feel a little smug. Bob can’t always just get to him if he wants; Frank feels powerful for the first time in a long time in their relationship.

“I’m busy, what can I do for you?” Frank asks, keeping it polite.

Bob sighs. “Frank what are you doing?”

“I told you, I’m working.”

“You know what I mean.”

Frank taps the pen in his hand against his keyboard for a minute, chewing on his lip. He isn’t allowed to wear his nose or lip ring to work, even though he never deals directly with customers; same in that he has to wear long sleeved shirts every day to cover his arms.

“We fought.”

Bob sighs, his voice sounding patient when he speaks. “Frank, people fight.”

“Yeah.”

“We’re not twelve. Don’t ignore me.”

Frank itches distractedly at his jaw. “If I was ignoring you we wouldn’t be talking right now.”

“No but you’re being a dick,” Bob snaps.

Frank feels his heart begin to beat more rapidly. Bob sounds pissed now. What is Frank doing? “Okay, wait,” he says, rubbing at his forehead. “Are you still here?”

“I’m headed towards that small café near your work.”

“By the stoplight?”

“Yeah,” Bob says.

Frank hesitates before asking quietly, “You want me to meet you there?”

Bob’s voice is more quiet than it should be when he says, “Only if you want to.”

“I do.”

 

\--

 

Bob, above all else, knows it’s not wise to be meeting Frank in public right now, but he doesn’t care. He can’t when he sees Frank jogging across the intersection towards him with his hands in his jacket pockets and looking like he’s about to explode just from seeing Bob in close proximity.

There’s a smile that’s more hesitant than Bob thinks it has any right to be on his face and Bob throws caution to the wind when he pulls Frank in as he stops in front of him. Frank clings back instantly, pressing in against Bob’s chest and tightening his arms around his back.

Bob doesn’t want to see Frank look so unsure ever again when it comes to them. “I love you,” he says quietly, firmly into Frank’s ear and he feels the body in his arms shudder a little.

“Me too,” Frank mumbles back, pressing a kiss to Bob’s throat before pulling away.

“You hungry?” Bob asks.

Frank nods. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

Bob rolls his eyes but slides his hand down Frank’s arm to take his hand before turning towards the café doors and heading in.

 

\--

 

Frank’s practically forgotten the whole reason he and Bob were fighting the night before by the time they’re finished with lunch. He tells Bob he has to get back and Bob offers to walk him.

In retrospect, Bob thinks he should have noticed before it happened. They’re waiting for the crossing signal to give them the go ahead when a man Bob is sure he’s never met before calls out his name and begins walking towards them with a smile on his face.

Bob turns and in the next instant all he hears is squealing tires and he comes to know what Frank being hit by a two door sports car sounds like.

His head snaps back towards the man who has vanished and then he’s sprinting to Frank.

There’s a crowd, people are screaming and sirens eventually sound. The driver is out of his car on the phone, hysterical and someone is trying to calm him down but Frank… _Frank_.

Bob stays on his knees, crouched down over Frank’s body, unwilling to risk rolling him onto his back. He touches only his arm and his ear when he whispers, “Frankie, _please_ hold on.”

 

\--

 

Bob knows he deserves each and every moment of hell the two days it takes Frank to stabilize are.

Bob isn’t even allowed to see him until he’s put into a private room a week after the initial accident and three days after the bump from CCU to ICU.

He isn’t sure what to expect from Frank. The only thing he knows is that he has to leave now. There’s no other choice but to get the fuck away from Frank while he’s still alive.

Frank is asleep when Bob steps in. The nurse in the room leaves him alone and he waits until the door clicks shut before he approaches the bed. Cautiously he reaches for Frank’s hand, avoiding the side with the IV pole. The steady beep of the heart monitor keeps him completely on edge as he strokes the dry skin he’s holding.

Bob absolutely doesn’t end up wiping a stray tear away when he looks at Frank’s face. The nasal cannula, his chapped lips, the road-rash on his face, the small cut marks where pieces of gravel had to be removed surgically because they were imbedded so deeply in his face, it’s too fucking much. He’s missing hair off the side of his head, Bob knows, even if it’s covered in a bandage. He’s sure there was swelling, but it’s mostly gone down now, bruising taking over, discoloring the majority of the right side of his face.

Bob licks his own lips nervously and looks down the bed at Frank’s legs, both encased in plaster casts. Both broken, like several of his ribs. Jesus Christ.

Bob jumps when Frank’s hand twitches in his own and then folds tighter around his fingers. Frank’s voice is raspy when he squints his eyes open and smiles a little and says, “Hey.”

“God, Frankie…”

Frank closes his eyes again and just rubs his thumb against the back of Bob’s hand.

“I’m so sorry,” Bob whispers. “God, I _told_ —I told you we shouldn’t—” he cuts himself off to draw in a series of ragged breaths, feeling his eyes sting.

“Shut up,” Frank’s hoarse whisper tells him.

Bob steadies himself as best he can before looking up into Frank’s barely open eyes and saying, “You almost died because of me.”

“I was there.”

Bob would hit Frank out of sheer frustration if he weren’t laying in a hospital bed right now. “Don’t joke. You stupid fuck, I _told_ you.”

Frank looks far too tired to be having any sort of conversation right now, but he tries to clear his throat to say something and ends up coughing, which leads to severe gasps of pain from the pressure on his ribs.

Bob is seconds from running into the hallway to find someone when Frank fumbles for the button that delivers a dose of morphine into his IV.

“Bob, it’s fine,” he rasps breathily. “’s okay.”

Bob finds that all hard to believe but he tries to calm down, squeezing Frank’s hand a little and nodding down at their hands.

“You want some water?” Bob asks.

Frank nods a little and Bob leaves him for a moment to track down a CNA who goes and gets him a cup of ice water. Bob holds Frank up slightly so he doesn’t spill it all down his front and then takes the cup from him when he’s done.

“Thanks,” Frank says, relaxing back into the pillows. “I was trying to say,” he takes a slow breath, pausing after every few words to do so, “I made that choice… for myself. You… you can’t protect me… from everything.”

Bob shakes his head. “I was _with_ you Frank, I should have been able to this time and you know it.”

“Don’t blame you.”

Bob licks his lips. “I blame me.”

“I know. But since when… does what you think… matter?”

Bob laughs suddenly, reaching his other hand up to rub at his eye. “Shit, Frank.”

“I’m an adult, Bob,” Frank says quietly.

Bob leans in very carefully and presses his lips to Frank’s, feeling the solid, plastic press of the tube in Frank’s nose against his own. He lingers only briefly, stroking a little at Frank’s non-bruised cheek when he pulls back. “Frank—”

“I know, okay?”

Bob just nods and turns to find a chair he can pull up to the bed.

 

\--

 

Bob moves Frank home as soon as the hospital lets him.

He knows it’s a stupid idea to be anywhere near Frank, especially when he’s recovering, but he can barely move on his own. Bob temporarily moves in without thinking about it too much, because he knows otherwise he’d talk himself out of it.

“I really gotta go back to work soon,” he tells Bob. “I don’t have enough paid time off to cover six weeks.”

Bob just tells him to shut up and go to sleep.

Frank doesn’t take a moment of having Bob around him all the time for granted. Underneath it all, he has the sneaking suspicion that when his legs heal and the casts come off, Bob is going to disappear.

When he mentions this to Bob one night, after jolting awake from a dream, and Bob groaning from his knee being smashed into by one of Frank’s casts, Bob turns on the nightstand light and props himself up on his arm.

“Positive thinking, Frank,” Bob says, “your physical therapist said it’d help.”

Frank huffs. “How can I be positive when I’m constantly worried about you leaving me when I can walk again?”

“Look, we’ll talk about that later, okay?” Bob’s voice is calm but Frank can tear the tension straining it.

Frank is quiet for a minute, fidgeting with the sheet before looking back up at Bob; the light glowing through his hair makes it appear white. Frank smiles a little and Bob returns it, leaning down to press their lips together lightly.

Frank pulls back with a groan and a laugh. “We probably shouldn’t start something that’s not going anywhere.”

Bob sighs, dropping his head to Frank’s neck and pressing a kiss there. “We’ll get off when you’re not so prone to falling apart.”

Frank laughs and runs his fingers through Bob’s hair as Bob settles down against his side. It feels like a huge role reversal in this position, but Frank likes it, the thought that maybe Bob needs him to be stronger sometimes. He rubs at Bob’s shoulders and says, “I won’t ever fall apart on you.”

Bob tenses a little. “Frankie—”

“Please don’t say we need to stop because you know I’m not giving you up. So we need to start looking for alternatives.”

Bob doesn’t say anything for a while and when he does it’s not what Frank wants to hear at all. “Someone is going to keep trying to kill you for as long as I’m around. I’m not uprooting your life so you can play hide and seek with me.”

“You’re right, you’re not.” Bob tenses up further. “ _I’m_ going to do that. So shut up with the leaving me shit; it’s not an option.”

Bob shifts, careful of Frank’s legs, until he’s sitting up against the headboard and Frank has to turn his torso to the side to look up at him comfortably. Bob’s eyes are faraway, like he’s thinking really hard and his expression is tight. He doesn’t look down at Frank, instead he moves to the side of the bed like he’s going to get up and leave.

“Don’t,” Frank says urgently, reaching out and grabbing the back of Bob’s t-shirt.

“I have to pee, Frank.”

“Oh,” Frank laughs a little and Bob shakes his head as he stands up and pads into the bathroom.

Frank waits until Bob is back under the covers and back against his side, his skin a little cold, before saying, “I’m just afraid I’m gonna look away and you’re gonna run.”

Bob swallows audibly. “I wouldn’t do that, Frank. I’m not a total shit, you know.”

“Yeah but you’re acting like one.”

“I don’t think I’m being a dick for not wanting you to get caught in the middle of my bullshit.”

Frank snaps back immediately, “It’s kinda late for that, Bob. Or did you forget I got hit by a fucking Solstice?” Bob sighs and rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling and feeling Frank’s gaze heavy on him. “I was already being followed before we were even together and you know it. I couldn’t possibly be in any more danger now than I was then.”

Bob taps his fingers against his stomach with absent thought. He purses his lips a little and sucks the ring through the bottom one into his mouth, gnawing on it absently. It takes almost too long for him to turn back to Frank and say, “I’ll think about it.”

Frank’s initial thought is to tell Bob that there’re two people involved here and that he gets to make half the decision, but he realizes suddenly that Bob is cracking on the issue. Bob doesn’t want to leave him behind and he’s considering taking Frank with him when he does go.

“Think hard,” Frank finally says, leaning over Bob and kissing him wetly. “I’d hate to have to kill you myself.” Bob laughs against his lips before tilting his head and gently sucking Frank’s tongue into his mouth. A gentle groan slips into Frank’s mouth and he presses in harder before pulling away. “I got both my legs busted in the name of love.” Bob’s expression is pained at the same time his mouth lifts in a small grin. “You better not leave me. Imagine my scorned wrath when I get a hold of you again.”

Bob doesn’t respond more than pulling Frank down for another kiss.

 

\--

 

They have sex while Frank’s legs are still in casts only once. Bob is paranoid the entire time that he’s going to hurt Frank worse. It’s slow and not anywhere near hard enough like Frank needs. They’re on their sides, Bob behind Frank, one hand planted on the bed by his chest, arching and moving carefully into Frank.

“Bob, seriously, harder,” Frank pants down into the arm his head is pillowed on.

Bob grunts and shakes his head. “I’ll hurt you.”

“I’m gonna die of blue balls here if you don’t fucking do something.”

Bob leans in and Frank tilts his head for a kiss, holding the back of Bob’s head in one hand and then letting go to reach for himself.

“Let me,” Bob gasps when he pulls away.

Frank shakes his head and refuses to let go. “I got it, just—just come on, please. Need it harder.”

Bob finally relents a little and moves his hips faster. Frank comes the moment his prostate is struck for the first time, gasping and choking on the breath he’s taking at the time. Bob immediately thinks he’s hurt Frank and pulls out, which hurts more than anything else has at this angle. Frank groans a little in pain and curls into himself as he spurts over his fingers.

“Frank, shit, I’m sorry,” Bob says urgently, rolling him onto his back.

Frank waves him off. “’s okay. Gimmie a second here.” He shudders a little with the aftershocks of his orgasm and when he opens his eyes it’s to see that Bob is still painfully hard, his cock flushed red and leaking at the tip.

Frank groans in sympathy and grabs at Bob’s hip. “Let me suck you.”

“No,” Bob says instantly. “It’s fine, I’ll take care of it. Are you sure you’re all right?”

Frank groans louder. “I won’t be if you don’t let me get you off.”

Bob protests again so Frank just grabs his dick and squeezes. Bob gasps and comes almost instantly, looking slightly embarrassed as Frank strokes him gently through it, coaxing it out of him.

When Bob finally opens his eyes, Frank’s hand is still curled loosely around his cock and he’s sucking a bruise into Bob’s chest. Frank lifts his head at Bob’s touch to the back of his neck and he offers a smug smile.

“Told you it’d work.”

Bob groans and pulls Frank’s hand from him. “We’re not doing it again until you can walk.”

“I can walk _now_ ,” Frank protests.

Bob just shakes his head and brings Frank down for another kiss.

Frank eases over, with Bob’s careful maneuvering, on top of Bob. They settle into an easy makeout session that leaves Frank rubbing a little against Bob’s thigh and Bob’s hips lifting slightly in return, but with no real urgency or edge to it. They exchange slow, deep kisses for a while until Frank pulls back and situates himself down until he’s just laying on Bob.

Bob pokes him in the side and Frank giggles, arching away and diggings his fingers into Bob’s shoulders.

“I’ll beat you with my casts, I swear.”

Bob shakes his head. “You wouldn’t.”

Frank sighs a little. “I guess not.”

Bob pokes him again and Frank nearly squeals this time, smacking Bob’s shoulder and then rolling off of him with minimal pain in either leg. They lay there for a while, neither speaking, both just staring up at the ceiling.

“Frankie—”

“Please don’t.” Bob turns his head to find Frank looking at him, face tense and eyes wet. “Not again, Bob. Seriously.”

“Frank—”

Frank turns and props himself up on his elbow. “Are we going to have this discussion every other day for the rest of our lives?” Something about the wording, the mere implication to Bob that Frank wants this to go on for anywhere near the rest of their lives, makes Bob’s fingers twitch and his heart beat faster. “I’m sick of it already and we haven’t even been together two months. Give it a fucking rest.” Frank flops himself back down and even goes so far as to cross his arms over his bare chest.

Bob continues staring for a while before he clears his throat and says, “Frankie, just listen to me, okay?” Frank makes a sound that Bob isn’t sure is a go-ahead, but he continues anyway. “You need to know something.” Frank glances over at him but doesn’t unfold his arms. Bob leans up over him, planting both hands on either side of Frank’s head. His hair hangs down a little; it’s gotten longer since they’d met, Frank loves it, sliding his fingers through and pulling. They itch to do so now but he refrains.

“What?” Frank asks after a moment of silence.

Bob drops his head a little and sighs, his eyes tracing over the ink on Frank’s chest. “A few years ago, when I started doing this—running,” he clarifies when Frank’s face betrays his confusion. “I—” Bob looks back down for a moment. “They killed my mom, Frank.” Frank’s hands climb up to grip his forearms and Bob grits his teeth; he misses his mom. “They killed her and they’ll do the same to you.”

“Bob—”

“Frank, if I can’t hide you or protect you… ultimately you’re probably gonna end up dead from knowing me.” Bob shakes his head, tears beginning to brim in his eyes and he just can’t lay here and cry to Frank about his woeful life. “I can’t let that happen again.” Bob sits up, shrugging Frank’s hands off of him and he turns away to collect himself.

He sits, evening out his breathing for a while before Frank’s touch returns, his fingers sliding over Bob’s shoulders to grip each other over his collarbones. Frank presses his chest to Bob’s back and kisses his neck.

When Bob reaches up to hold onto the knot of his fingers, Frank mumbles against his shoulder, “I don’t care.”

Bob hesitates, the watery feeling in his eyes becoming more forceful. “I do.”

“I’ll run with you.”

Everything suddenly feels more dramatic and cinematic than it ever has before in Bob’s life, even with all the death scenes he’s faced down and the explosions, showdowns with real life villains. Somehow, with all of that, his ability to fall in love with a normal, every day human, manages to feel like the weirdest part.

“I might not be able to protect you,” Bob admits. Frank knows his powers in sound and light, but brute force and other abnormal enhancements and abilities elude him.

Frank breathes steadily against his skin and Bob feels goosebumps begin to creep over him. He shudders a little and Frank squirms closer. “You know that saying about how you don’t have to be faster than everyone, you just have to be faster than someone?”

Bob nods and then snorts a laugh he doesn’t really feel. “Sounds like some piece of zombie survival advice.”

“It applies.” Frank shrugs.

“Not really the same thing.”

“Close enough.” Frank moves carefully until he’s sitting beside Bob, against his side and Bob puts his arm around his shoulders; Frank leans in. “One step ahead is all we need to stay, Bob.”

And really, that makes more sense than anything else Bob has heard so far in his life when it comes to his random powers. “I guess.”

Frank kisses his chest and then leans up for a kiss on the lips. “Come on, you can make electronics short out with your mind, I can survive being hit by a car, and we’re sitting naked on my bed talking about escaping the bad guys together.” Bob laughs and Frank smiles.

“And yet I remain convinced that somewhere, stranger things have happened,” Bob says, sounding a little defeated. Frank only nods and stays put, silent. Bob sighs and traces his fingertip over Frank’s bare thigh. “Alright.”

Bob can feel Frank’s surprised blink. “Alright?”

“Alright,” Bob repeats, pulling back a little. “Be the Bonnie to my Clyde and let’s run away together.”

Frank’s laugh falls to a smile before he narrows his eyes. “Why do I have to be Bonnie?”

Bob rolls his eyes and then carefully pushes Frank onto his back and climbs on top of him.

 

\--

 

Over the next three and a half years Bob and Frank move steadily around the East coast. Countless close-calls with Frank’s life in jeopardy send Bob over the deep end. They wind up fighting and breaking up every single time a new threat arises or an old threat closes in.

Bob never lets go for long.

 

\--

 

They’re in the Midwest at the time, when, after seven months of radio silence, Bob gets that prickly feeling in the base of his spine while he and Frank are out to eat.

It’s broad daylight and they’re sitting outside at a restaurant, Bob fucking hopes no one would be stupid enough to attack Frank, or himself, while there are so many people around. Bob carefully shifts his eyes around and when Frank picks up his phone to answer a call, Bob disconnects the waves the frequency is on.

Frank looks down at his phone. “What the hell, I just charged this.” Then he glances at Bob and Frank sets his cell down on the table, worrying the inside of his lip. “Here?” he finally asks, sounding small and tired. Bob nods. “Where?”

“I don’t know, don’t look around.” Bob pushes the pasta on his plate around a little. He’s not feeling very hungry anymore. He quickly runs the check list of things they’ve got to do to vanish this time and just winds up rubbing at his forehead in frustration. “I thought we’d be all right here,” he says under his breath. Frank hears and reaches across the table to rub his arm.

“Did it just start?” It wouldn’t be the first time Bob had hidden the threat from him before; but Bob just nods.

“Is it Bert?”

Bert, they’ve come to know, is one of… whoever it is coming after them. Bob never did a very good job of pretending that Frank isn’t his absolute weakness the first time he was actually able to get any information out of the guy. Bob is sure he’ll regret that mistake until he fucking dies.

“I don’t know; I can’t tell.”

Frank sits back and sighs a little. “I wanna go home,” he says. They aren’t too far from their apartment but that’s really the last place they should go right now and they both know it.

Bob just tells him, “Let me get the check.”

But as he stands, the sensation of _controlled energy_ and _too much_ hit him all and once. Bob barely has time to turn and pull Frank away from the table before an explosion throws them out over the rail divider and into the street.

Bob’s mind races. They’ve never been attacked so bluntly out in the open before. People are screaming and cars are swerving out of the way and all Bob can do is sit up and pull Frank to his feet. He’s shaking with adrenaline and fear and Frank’s smaller form is bleeding but there’s no time to ask him if he’s okay. He takes the risk of being followed over the risk of being incinerated and shoots off the ground into the air, clutching Frank against him.

 

\--

 

Frank’s injuries are mostly superficial; he’d landed on top of Bob, but his arm had scraped along the ground enough to tear away a patch of skin. It’s not enough for stitches, but it still hurts like a motherfucker when Bob wraps it up back at the apartment that night.

“Shit, watch it,” Frank snaps, pulling his arm away and here it comes, the fighting after the attack. Bob sighs and leans back into the arm of the couch.

“Sorry,” he says without much feeling.

“Yeah.”

Bob sighs audibly and rubs his forehead; usually it’s _him_ that initiates these fights. He doesn’t say anything. He really doesn’t want to do this again. “I said I was sorry, Frank.”

“And I said ‘yeah’.”

“Well that’s great, let’s just fuckin’ fight about it, because that always works out,” Bob snaps, pushing himself up from the couch and heads into the kitchen. He’s going to either get drunk or go to bed; unless Frank beats him to the bedroom and makes him sleep on the couch.

“Fuck you,” Frank calls.

Bob expects something to follow, but nothing does. He grabs two bottles of beer and makes his way into the bedroom without another word. Three and a half years and they still can’t deal with this properly. Hell, they handled it better in the beginning, but it gets tiring after a while. It freaks Bob out every time something happens and they have to move because it puts them one step closer in the direction where Frank can’t take it anymore and leaves him.

Bob isn’t out of the shower long when Frank comes into the bedroom and starts changing into his pajamas, throwing his clothes all around the room. Bob sighs to himself and towels off his hair before heading into the room and pulling on his pajama bottoms.

Frank keeps his back to him, giving Bob a good view of the scars that line his calves from the accident, god, three years ago. Further up his on the small of his back is a long, smooth scar that curves up around his hip and widens on his side. A year into everything Frank had taken a wiring pipe to the side that split him open. That one had almost killed Frank. Bob remembers it vividly, holding him, the blood, the feel of Frank’s heartbeat going too fast and then slowing down.

Bob shudders and bites his lip before tugging a t-shirt on and climbing into bed. He can’t keep doing this if Frank isn’t in it with him.

 

\--

 

They make up two days later without an actual blow-out fight when Frank corners Bob in the kitchen and presses himself against Bob’s chest, closing his eyes against his throat and just holding on.

No one says sorry, neither of them care.

They pack up and by the end of the week they’re out of the city and back on the East coast.

 

\--

 

It isn’t even a month later that they’re out walking together, not even touching, and Bob stiffens from the prickle at the back of his neck. Frank’s disappointment is both audible in his sigh and visible in the frown on his face.

Bob risks it and takes his hand; they both liked this place.

They move further up the coast three days later.

 

\--

 

Bob is out by himself the next time it happens. His back aches a little in the base of his spine and it creeps through his limbs. It’s a different kind of ache, one he can’t identify. He’s not sure what it means, who it is exactly, but he knows he’s being watched again.

He’s at the store, Frank is at home asleep from the marathon of sex they’d just had, and Bob was restless, so he left a note on the bed and went out. Bob hopes like fuck no one saw him leave; Frank is defenseless.

What happens when he gets out into the parking lot is still a little wavy in Bob’s memory but he watches the fight this time.

It’s not him they’re after.

There’s a tall guy in a purple hoodie and a shorter guy that Bob can barely see. Before he can even try to identify anything there’s a huge explosion of blue energy that comes from the short one and then screams, heat and fire. When they take to the sky, following someone who is fleeing through the air, Bob follows.

He watches them fight, disorganized, but working as a team, playing off each other. But even with as well as they take on their opponent, they’re still no match. Bob runs when they do.

 

\--

 

He doesn’t immediately tell Frank about what he’s seen because Bob has never encountered anyone, other than Bert, who has abilities like he does. He doesn’t know if it’s a gross oversight on his part that he’s never even considered it before, that someone out there could possibly _help_ them, or if he was doing the right thing pulling Frank along with him in temporary safety and not searching for help.

Frank soothes him to sleep that night, when Bob just tosses and turns beside him, with a blowjob. He slides down, pushing the covers and Bob’s pajama bottoms out of the way before grasping Bob’s cock and sucking at the head.

Bob arches and immediately grabs Frank’s hair with a gasp. “Frankie…”

Frank hums and rolls his tongue over the slit. “Relax, Bob,” Frank tells him, kissing down the shaft and then back up, stroking slowly before going down as far as he can.

Bob groans weakly, holding his hips as steadily as he can without much luck. Frank doesn’t stop though, he moves with Bob and lets him fuck up into his mouth, sucking easily. He gags once and pulls back to breathe, working both hands over Bob’s dick.

Bob just lays there, panting; his hand covering Frank’s hip and squeezing possessively.

“Mine,” Frank breathes, sliding back down and sucking hard. Bob cries out, his voice high and strangled, his fingers skidding over Frank’s neck and holding him down as his toes curl and he comes with explosive force into Frank’s mouth.

Frank kisses his way up to Bob’s lips and Bob licks into his mouth eagerly, ignoring the taste of himself on Frank’s lips, and rolling until he’s on top; his thigh rubbing hard against Frank’s cock.

Frank whimpers and pulls Bob in further, panting, “Touch me, please.”

Bob does, wrapping his fingers around Frank’s cock, lying flat against his stomach, and stroking hard. Frank comes in the first few strokes, crying out wildly and thrashing up under Bob’s weight.

They both collapse and curl into one another, sticky and sated. Frank hums contentedly against Bob’s throat, sucking slow bruises into the sensitive skin for a while and Bob finally eases off to sleep, both arms around Frank’s small body.

 

\--

 

The next time there’s a fight, it’s not aimed at Bob either.

Bob ends up in the same place as the tall guy with the purple hoodie, only this time he’s with two other people that hadn’t been there the time before.

It’s not the last time either.

Bob watches and categorizes them by ability and power, identifying them even by name when someone calls out to them.

It keeps happening and Bob keeps learning. He sees the flaws in their plans, weak spots in their organization, even places where Bob himself could assist them. He itches to fight, but the urge to actually return home alive to Frank is even greater. He never helps.

But after the next two times, Bob follows them when they flee.

 

\--

 

Frank is curled up on their bed watching cartoons when Bob comes home that night. He sits up immediately, the smile falling from his face when he smells the ashes and soot from the blonde fighter’s fire. It had been intense that night; something about the thin one always glued to his side, the one who could disappear. Bob still hadn’t figured them out yet.

“Bob?” Frank asks, scooting to the side of the bed, intent on hopping off and crossing the room to Bob, but Bob beats him to it, spreading Frank’s legs and moving between them.

Frank takes the kiss Bob gives him, groaning in surprise, but responding eagerly.

Both of his hands are clutched in Bob’s shirt and Bob is panting, looking down at him; fuck, Frank, so goddamn beautiful. He’s gone through, and given up, _everything_ to be with Bob. And Bob’s a fucking freak. He drops his head and licks his lips. This could be it, this could be fucking everything they need.

He grasps Frank’s head in both hands and kisses him softly.

“Bob?” Frank asks again, eyebrows drawn together and worry staining his voice.

Bob brushes his thumbs over Frank’s lower lip and says quietly, “I think I found someone who can help us.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a series but I only ever wrote parts two and four.


End file.
